


A Terrible Thing

by Renestion



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:27:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29771346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renestion/pseuds/Renestion
Summary: A Kaminoan geneticist tunes in to a speech recently given from a senator about the Clone Army. She mulls over the implications with a bottle of liquor.
Kudos: 5





	A Terrible Thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meridianpony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meridianpony/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Dominoes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11864643) by [meridianpony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meridianpony/pseuds/meridianpony). 



> Hey! This is my first ever fanfiction, which is funny to me because my first fanfic is fanfic of a fanfic. Anyway, I recently read Dominoes by meridianpony (which you should totally go check out) and I didn't really like how the Kaminoans, what little we got of them, were seemingly all characterized as Not Good. Our perspective is biased, of course, being filtered through the clones, but still. So I wrote this as a response. It takes place immediately after Padme and Hevy's speech in chapter thirty-five.
> 
> Also, considering I'm kind of new to the whole fanfiction game, I don't know if writing something based on someone else's work is, I don't know, kosher? If meridianpony tells me they don't want other people writing about their work I'll gladly take it down.

I took a sip of my Kaminoan liquor, something I usually brought out for celebrations.

The dull glow of the holovid was the only thing that illuminated my room. That, as well as the occasional flash of lightning from the constant storms that covered Kamino’s surface, the sound of pounding rain lashing against my window. 

It must have been hours since the recording had first played, streamed live from Coruscant. I must have replayed it over a hundred times in the hours preceding. 

I remember how proud I was when I was chosen to help engineer the clone army, something that was surely to be Kamino’s greatest feat of genetic engineering thus far. Whereas before we used our skills to maintain the planet’s fragile biosphere and our people, we did take commissions from offworlders for various projects now and again. Until Master Sifo-Dyas came, our largest project had been creating a continent's worth of artificial creatures to fill a resort for some noble in the Rishi Maze. But that was a project from before my time. Now, it seemed as though the whole planet had stopped and shifted its focus, concentrating solely on the clone army.

When Master Sifo-Dyas first arrived, and with him his idea for an army of clones, we had dismissed the idea as doable, but ridiculous. But then we saw the sums and resources that he had offered, and suddenly, the idea did not seem so silly. 

I remember upgrading our gene-labs into the massive installations that they’d become, incubators towering hundreds of feet into the air. I remember the first batches of clones that we’d created, perfectly bred for war. Muscles, immune systems, metabolisms, adrenal systems, even their cognition— everything perfectly bred and optimized for the battlefield. The plethora of challenges that we had to work through, to get them all _just_ right, excited me to no end.

A work of art, every single clone.

I didn’t even dislike the defective clones, as opposed to some of my peers. Mistakes they might have been, but each one showed something in which we could improve on, a chance to examine what went wrong and to see how it could be prevented in the future.

On my off hours, I would often walk the pathways that overlooked the training centers, the incubation rooms, the mess halls, the education centers, the recreational areas, the physical development centers; I loved watching the clones thrive. I was just a simple geneticist, not even one of the leading researchers, but I loved to look at them and think “ _I helped make that.”_ It was something that filled me with an enormous sense of pride.

But while my own involvement in the clone army’s creation was something I was immensely proud of, that pride had turned to something… less, over the past few hours.

At the start, I had thought the Senator’s speech was going to be some generic thing, something to drum up continued support for the Grand Army. 

But then she played that cursed video.

It had filled me with such a sense of rage that if I hadn’t lived a life adhering strictly to Kaminoan etiquette I would have started screaming at the holoprojector right then and there. Clones, _my clones,_ being treated in such a way was unconscionable, even though I was cognizant of the fact that they didn’t belong to me, no matter my involvement. The examples that they’d shown disgusted me, each and every one. Clones thrown away, as though they were cannon fodder, without a hint of strategy; clones abused and treated as worthless, as opposed to our finest creations; clones subjected to accusations of being lifeless, unthinking droids, something they were very specifically designed _not to be_. Punishments dished out for the clones that were most certainly not approved in the regulations for acceptable reprimands. And the officer in the video who threatened to cut rations! Oh how my blood boiled. _Clone rations cannot be cut, you meritless cretin!_ I had thought. I was passing friends with the nutritionist that had helped design their diet, I am sure he must have been even more outraged than I was.

I did not think there was any way to justify the abuse that the clones received, and I knew in my heart it was wrong. While the specifics could be ironed out, I wholeheartedly agreed with at least the intent of the methods that Senator Amidala had presented for curbing the poor treatment of the army. Something had to be done. It should have been presented to the Kamino Cloning Association before going to the senate, of course, like Senator Burtoni had pointed out, but the cat was out of the bag now, as the humans liked to say. 

Then, they had played the Jedi’s part of the preceding, and it still echoed in my mind, his words pounding around my head, as I dully watched the recording playback one more time. A decade of pride turning to poison in my heart.

_Slaves._

I took a sip of my liquor.

Every species, I think, has had an experience with slavery, ours certainly did. I remember the history lessons in school, when long before the oceans rose to cover the surface of Kamino, slavery was practiced. Now, it was only regarded as an ancient and terrible tradition, something left to ages past.

He was wrong, though. The Jedi. The clones are not slaves. _I_ would certainly never do something as vile as help manufacture slaves. Of _course_ they weren't slaves.

To be a slave, one must be enslaved. Set to work in horrid conditions, yearning for freedom which you knew would never come.

I pressed the replay button on the holovid once more.

The clones, I knew, _wanted_ to be at war, on the battlefield. I knew they did, we had designed them to revel in it. They may not have a choice in it, but that is irrelevant when the answer is already known, isn’t it? The clones want to fight, it is what they’ve been bred for. I’ve examined the battlefield data, as well as the psychological reports, and personal testimonies of the clones that have come back to Kamino for ARC training. The clones don’t only not _need_ a choice, they don't _want_ a choice. They are content where they are. Thus, they cannot be slaves.

I took another sip from my bottle, and I clicked the replay button on the holovid once more. 

_Slavery._

I took yet another sip. 

_Preposterous._

The clone at the senate must have been defective. It is the only explanation. He shouldn’t have cared that he didn’t have a choice in his duty, he should have simply done it. The complaints of abuse were fair, but he should have had no qualms about the matter of choice itself.

Yes, defective.

Yes, that must have been it.

I took a sip of my liquor.

I couldn’t imagine other clones agreed with his sentiment. I saw some of the Coruscant Guard in the vid which seemed excited at his proposition, but that was only to make sense. I am sure that they would be at the forefront of abuse, having to deal with countless civilians. 

The rank and file, though, sent out to countless battlefields to die on countless worlds, I am sure they wouldn’t care about the lack of choice. The shark does not care that once born, it will spend its whole life under the waves. In much the same way, a clone would not care that he spends his whole life serving the Republic. But much like a shark would not enjoy swimming in poisoned water, the clone would also wish for some level of decorum in the army it served.

Yes. 

That made sense to me.

The choice itself didn’t matter, not to most of the clones.

…

Right?

I took another sip from my bottle.

_It wasn’t slavery._

We weren’t doing anything wrong.

I stood up slowly, my intoxication requiring me to use far too much effort to reach my full, towering height. I supposed there was a simple way to check if the clone in the Senate was defective. I could simply see if other clones shared his views. Errant opinions of a single cone didn’t mean much, so I could simply see if any of his brothers thought the same.

I stumbled towards the door, before stopping to get my bearings. It would not do at all to waltz around the halls drunk, I could already imagine my mother berating me for such an overt breach of decorum. But it would not matter if nobody could tell. 

I put on a mask of Kaminoan professionalism, and stepped out into the hallways.

\------------------------------------------------------

While Tipoca City was a sprawling structure, covering many kilometers, my quarters, as well as most members employed by the Kamino Cloning Organization, was placed within the military complex. I knew clones had scheduled patrols throughout the civilian sections, so I wandered the plain white walls in my section until I stumbled upon a patrol. I didn't not know exactly what I would ask when I found one, or what I would do if I _didn’t_ find one, but I was not thinking that far ahead.

 _What to say, what to say, what to say,_ I thought, my mind wandering as my legs took me around the exterior of the building, massive windows flanking my right, overlooking the world ocean. I loved watching the massive storms that wracked Kamino. It calmed my nerves when the stress of work threatened to overwhelm me. But now, I did not have the time to gaze wistfully. ‘ _Surely, I must have come close to a patrol by now’._

As if fate was listening to my thoughts, three clones stepped out of a corridor to the left, turning so that they’re backs faced me as they continued on their way. I took just a moment to admire them in their shiny white armor before I called out to them. 

“You there, Clones!” I said, my voice slurring ever so slightly from my intoxication. I willed my voice into compliance as I hurried over.

The clones had stopped on a dime, and done a clean about face. They lacked the looseness of more experienced clones, so I assumed they were probably fresh from training, waiting to be shipped out into the galaxy.

“Yes, Ma’am?” Said the clone at the front of their little formation. I stopped in front of him, regaining my balance for a moment. I must have been swaying like a loose antennae in the wind.

“Yes, I have a— I have a uh, question for you, clone,” I struggled to say.

“Yes, Ma’am?” He repeated.

I had not put too much thought into what exactly I would ask any clone I came upon, I was largely pushed by that deep seated unease sitting firmly in my gut. So, I decided to be direct.

“Have you seen the recent senatorial proceedings? The one regarding the clones treatment in the field?” I said. 

At this, the clones seemed to straighten and stiffen, standing even more at attention than they had when I first called out to them. The hallway seemed to be deathly still. Well, it would have, if it weren’t for my damnable swaying. 

The clone hesitated, but replied “Yes, Ma’am,” for a third time.

“Well, did you agree with the clone in the senate?”

“... Yes, ma’am.”

“About the treatment, though.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

This wasn’t getting me anywhere, he was just replying with yes ma’ams. How I wished I hadn’t left my liquor in my apartment, but decorum demanded it.

“But what about, you know, the other thing?” I said, swaying a little on my feet. I could feel the blood pounding through my head.

I didn’t think the clones in front of me were breathing.

“I am not sure what you mean, ma’am.”

I paused for a moment, to try and think of exactly what I would say. The clone, bless them, waited patiently for me. 

“The Jedi, and the clone in the senate, do you think it is wrong for you not to have a choice in all this? You want to fight, yes? I know you do, we bred you to. You follow orders gladly, yes?” 

I think I said the last parts more for me than him.

Expressionless helmets stared back at me. It seemed almost as if the clones were statues. None of them said anything. I could hear one of their blasters creak, from the strength with which they were gripping their weapons.

If I didn’t not know any better, I would have thought that the respect clones usually address me with had shifted to fear. But there was no reason to be afraid of me.

I was about to order them to answer me, as I was getting uneasy at the lack of response. But after a few tense heartbeats, the clone on the left of the one I had been addressing spoke up, his voice seeming hoarse.

“If given the choice, I would gladly fight and die for what this Republic stands for ma’am.”

Ah. That’s good. So it seems th—

“But I would like to have the choice, ma’am.”

That thread of poison that had been working its way through me seemed to turn to stone in my chest. 

His brothers turned to him in what I imagined would be shock, but I could not see their faces. I was left there, swaying numbly due to my inebriation while my mind ran over his words again and again.

I may have just run into another defective clone. After all, his brother’s haven’t said anything. Clones are obedient, and are happy to do their duty, they—

“I… agree with my brother, ma’am.”

—were bred to follow orders, I _know_ they were, they love to—

“Me as well, ma’am.”

— _No, no no no no no no._

One clone could be an errant defect, two a fluke, but I did not believe for a second I had happened upon a group of three oddly defective clones.

The word echoed through my mind once again.

_Slavery._

“I— I see. I value your input, clones. Now, I, uh, I, I must— I must go and… uh,” I said, trailing off. I was swaying badly now, I know I was, and my vision swam terribly.

“Ma’am? Ma’am, are you alright?” While moments before they had been tense almost to the point of snapping, the clones seemed to now shift into concern.

Why had they been afraid of me?

“Fine, clone, I am— I am fine,” I said, most certainly not fine.

 _Slavery_.

When they snapped to attention for me at naught but a word, was it due to respect for their creators, or out of fear for their slave masters?

 _No,_ I thought. No, I can’t think about this, not now. I need to sober up first.

I turned to hurry down the hall, back to my quarters, but my legs seemed to have other plans. I pitched forward, but a pair of strong hands caught me as I began my plummet.

“Ma’am, I really think we should get you to a medical station,” one of the clones said.

I felt bad, the way he had to crane his head so far up when he was directly under me like this. I could feel the other clones trying to keep me up as well. My blasted legs did not seem to want to work.

“No, no, that is alright , I’m just— just a bit tipsy, is all.”

I was already mortified, I was not about to be taken to the med-bay on account of public intoxication. 

That feeling of dread in my stomach grew worse, and it circled around and around inside my chest, threatening to strangle me.

“Please, just— escort me back to my room, please, it’s, it’s—”

It was getting harder and harder to breathe, having to force air up and down through my long neck, and my vision was rapidly filling up with stars. My view seemed to narrow to almost nothing, the hallway seeming far too bright, and the clone’s concerned voice seeming all too loud.

“Ma’am, I really do think we should get you to a med-bay,” a clone said; I had lost track of which one was speaking. 

“No, I am just drunk, clone, please, please, my quarters are—” I tried to finish my sentence, but my voice seemed to run away just as the rest of my body did. 

Further and further I could feel the snake around me tighten. Dread, fear, regret, disgust, and loathing rising up inside me to try their best to rip me apart. An odd keening sound escaped my throat.

_This whole time. This whole bloody time. How did we miss this?_

I could feel the bile rise up my throat, but blessedly, unconsciousness took me before it reached my mouth.

\-----------------------------

I awoke in my quarters, the storm still raging outside, and with a truly thunderous hangover.

 _Oh, thank the rains_ , I thought. I briefly wondered why the clones took me back here, when they had seemed insistent on heading towards a medical station. I silently resolved to hunt them down to thank them. 

Hm.

I didn’t catch their names.

Before I could begin to spiral again into the moral affliction I found myself faced with last night, my bathroom door opened, to reveal the noble figure of Taun We, one of my closest friends.

“Taun We!” I said, mortified that she had to see me in such a sorry state.

“Oh, Uura, good, you’re awake. I was only a few minutes from taking you to the hospital you know,” she said gently.

I put my hands to my face, “Please, let the oceans swallow me now.”

She chuckled at that. “I heard you made quite a mess in the hallway. You’re lucky Torru happened across you being half dragged through the hallways by a group of clones, covered in vomit. He called me as soon as they got you back here. You weren’t cooperative at all when I tried to get you in the shower, I had to have one of the clones assist me in hosing you down.”

I flashed her a small smile, while on the inside withering into a small ball of embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember much after I puked up a liter of alcohol.”

She smiled again, and sat down next to me on the bed.

We shared a few moments of silence. It was her that spoke first. Her tone had an odd melancholy to it, one which I did not enjoy hearing from one so bright and gentle as her.

“... Why were you drinking?”

All the feelings that I tried to drink myself through came back in a heartbeat, and the clone’s words that I had almost sinfully hoped to forget resounded in my skull one last time. 

_“I’d like the choice,”_ He’d said. As did his brothers.

The words haunted over me like a curse. There was still a small part of me that wanted to go and scream at them, tell them that they shouldn’t want the choice, they were bred to be obedient and cheerfully accept their place, the matter of choice never even entering their mind.

Well, I thought, with a sick sort of humor, maybe we weren’t so good at engineering minds as we thought.

“You saw the holovid? From Coruscant?” I said.

“...Yes.”

“That was why.”

“I see.”

“The clones agreed with their brother. They desired a choice.”

“... I see.”

There was another pause, before she spoke.

“There were three clones when I—”

“They all agreed.”

“... I see.”

As the aide to the Prime Minister, Taun We had had practice schooling her features, but I had known her for the better portion of our lives. I clearly saw the anguish in her expression. For some reason, I still felt the need to verbalize the proverbial whale in the room.

“A slave army, Taun We.”

This she physically baulked at, and wrapped her arms around herself. She shut her eyes, hard, before she spoke yet again.

“I had woken up the prime minister, once I saw the broadcast, to seek his guidance on the matter.” She swallowed, and glanced at me, but was not willing to look me in the eyes.

“He was… not pleased with the address. The matter of abuse towards the clone, he was actually rather receptive about. But when I tried to get his opinion on the _other_ things in the speech, well…” She took another pause.

“He was livid, to say the least. ‘I will not have some defective clone mischaracterizing our noble achievements!’ he’d said.” She hung her head.

I looked at her. For all our lives, Taun We had always been so kind, so gentle. She took great care to never hurt anyone’s feelings, and always tried to make people feel better if she ever thought they were feeling down. Even with the clones, she would always take time to compliment them. I often teased her for it, because she had a habit of remarking upon the cleanliness of their armor. I tried to tell her they wouldn’t really care about something like that.

In hindsight, though, I regret not giving them more kind words.

“And what do you think?” I said.

This time she turned to look at me, straight into my eyes. There was a horrid, dreadful aspect to them.

“Oh, Uura, I fear that we have done something _terrible._ ”

I put my hand on her arm, just to try to give some small gesture of reassurance.

“Yes,” I said, my voice shaking with intense emotion.

“I am afraid we may have.”


End file.
